The years gone by
by Lunedd
Summary: Sam is dead for five years, and Dean has to cope with it. Bobby and Ellen try to help. Sorry, I’m really bad in summaries… Don’t like it – don’t read it! I don't owe any of the show - sad but true! ;-
1. Chapter 1

Well, then, here we go! It's been quite some time since I wrote down the stories that popp out of my head – but the boys brought it back to me!

It's my first approach, please read and review! (and don't be too hard ;-) )

Short summary: Sam is dead for five years, and Dean has to cope with it. Bobby and Ellen try to help. Rated T just to be sure!

Sorry, I'm really bad in summaries… Don't like it – don't read it!

Prelude

The demons poured out of the darkness, attacking the hunters – and Dean was unable to do something, _anything_.

He was pinned against the wall, arms strechted out as if he was crucified. There was blood dripping from a big slash on his forehead, and his left shoulder was soaked with the red life-fluid that steadily flew out of a bite. His shirt was torn across his chest, baring the criss-cross marks of talons that had torn his skin, when one of the demons had beaten him, just before he took the bitch out and Sam had pinned him against the wall, booted feet dangling about 2 meters above the ground. The fingers of his right hand now opened slowly, so slowly, to drop the gun he was holding, and no matter how hard he fought, he couldn't hold on to the weapon.

Sam, standing opposite to Dean a few meters away, wrenched it out of his hand and made it fly towards him, taking it casually out of the air. He grinned at his sbrother, a wide grin with to many teeth, his black demon-eyes glistening. „Well, Dean", he said with this mock tone Dean had learned to fear, although he would never admit that – not even to himself. „Seems you're shorthanded. What did you think, brother? That this poor bunch of hunters could stop us?" He smirked when he saw how Dean winced at the word „us". Sam used that word for Dean and him, for them being a family.

Dean closed his eyes. _Sorry, Dad, I failed again_. „Sammy, listen, it's the blood you sucked that talks outta you." At least his voice was still under his control.

The younger Winchester laughed out loud. „Yeah, sure it is! And it's MINE! I finally have become what I was destined to become, can't you see that? And, Dean – there is also a place for you – at my side."

Dean felt the pressure on his chest, which had pinned him against the wall decrease, and he slid down the wall until he had solid ground beneath his feet. He stared at Sam, who held out a black gloved hand and had put an encouraging smile on his face, showing the dimples on his soft cheeks.

Dean could swear he looked like his little brother again – not like the freak he became the last year when they fought Lucifer. God, it was so tempting... It could be so easy – just taking Sams hand, and everything would be as it was, four years ago... He reached out, ready to grab the hand, but then he backed off. „No. NO! I didn't go through all this just to become what Yellow Eyes told us! Never ever! It wasn't _me_ who failed you – you yourself failed!" He suddenly realized that there was nothing he could do. It was all in Sam's hands now – for better or worse.

He opened his arms. „Well, Sammy, go ahead! Kill me and fullfill your destiny, as you put it. Give in to the weakness, go the easy way – but don't you ever use me again! Can't you see that it's wrong what we're doing here? We should fight together against the demons, not against each other. Just when did everything go so horribly wrong?! I want my brother back, I want _you_ back, Sammy…"

Sam nodded slowly, hand sinking to his hip – and suddenly he grabbed for Dean's arm and pulled his face closely to his own. His eyes cleared up, and he threw the gun away, holding the struggling Dean with both hands. „Dean, listen to me, please! Stop fighting me! I had to rise this army because I knew you would never have listened to me otherwise."

Dean held still, his brother's voice sounding so real, so true.

"There is only one way to stop all this. But I can't do it. I have gone to far, there's no turning back." Sam damn sounded like the old Sam now, and Dean shot him a wary look. What was that now all about?! Another trick to seduce him? He peered hard at the weapon not two meters away from his feet, and considered diving towards it.

„You have to kill me. As Dad said. There is no other way to stop me." Sam saw where Deans eyes had been drawn to and shrugged. "Go, get the gun. But it won't help. Bullets can't kill me anymore." He drew a dagger out of the back of his belt and held it out to Dean, who sucked his breath in with a sharp sound. The demon-killing dagger! But – it was a trick, wasn't it? Why should Sam want him to kill him? Now that he was but inches away from victory?

And then he looked in his brother's eyes. Yes, they were his brother's eyes again. There was no guile or expediency in them. Just his little brother Sammy, and he was begging for salvation.

Dean grabbed the dagger without another thought and raised the blade. He stopped in midair, watching in horror as Sam lifted his chin and exposed the pink, soft flesh of his throat to him.

Suddenly Dean's arm seemed to weigh to much to hold up. He lowered the blade, shaking his head. "I- I can't do that…" he stammered, staring at Sam, whose lips had set into that little smile he used to have when being satisfied with the whole world around him. The smile vanished now, and Sam grabbed Dean's hand.

"But you have to! Don't you remember Castiel's words? You are the only one who can stop all of this. And you are the only one who can kill me. Believe me, I tried – but no-one can come close enough to me, they are all pushed back by my powers – I don't have control over that part. Must be some kind of primitive life saviour. But you, you are-" he stopped in midsentence, leaving the words unspoken that hovered between them. There was no need to pronounce them. Dean understood. _You are the one who kept me save, pushing the nightmares aside when I used to wake up in the middle of the night, screaming and tossing, you are the one who gave me his share of breakfast when nothing else was left, staying hungry yourself so I did not have to be, you are the one that always protected me against the tantrums of our father, you are the one who cleaned and bandaged my scratches and wounds and comforted me, you are the one who cared…_

"Sammy, no, please don't…" Deans voice broke, his green eyes glistening. Sam put Dean's hand with the dagger onto the part of his chest were his heart was beating steadily underneath. "Dean, you _owe_ me that. You brought me back from the dead, because you couldn't let go, but now you have to. If you are still my big brother – Dean…" He stared at the elder Winchester, eyes bright and full of confidence. "I cannot hold them back for much longer." He nodded towards the few demons who weren't battling the hunters but lingered at an unseen circle line around the two brothers. "It is my blood that will take them back to hell."

Dean's eyes lit up. "But then it is possibly enough if we spill a bit of it…"

"No." Sam's voice was determinded, set. "You need more than just some drops." He pressed against the tip of the knife. "I would do it myself, but I - can't. I need your help, brother. I need you!"

Dean heard the whispering of the demons surrounding them, saw the sinister looks in their faces, ready to tear him to pieces, once Sam's guards were down.

A scream pierced his ears, and he whirled around to where it came from. "Bobby!" The older man was pinned against the ground, bleeding from oh so many wounds, a demon girl sitting on his hips, teeth bared and just as she bowed down to bite the old hunter, Dean could not take it any longer.

"NO!" It was a shout coming from deep within him, frightening him for it did not sound human, it did not sound like him. "This is NOT gonna happen!"

He turned back to Sam and asked him with the slightest tremor in his voice: "You are sure this is the only way?"

Sam nodded sadly. "Yes." He was not able to say another word, for Dean lurched forward and punched the knife deeply into Sams exposed chest. His brother's eyes widened with shock, but he did nothing to defend himself. When finally his legs gave way, Dean caught his slender form by the shoulders, lowering him slowly to the ground.

"What have I done?" he stammered, eyes now full with tears. "How could I – how… Sammy, bro, hey, little man – SAMMY…" He did not care about the tears streaming down his bloody and dirty face, "I'm sorry… I am so sorry…"

"You have to finish it", Sam whispered, blood freckles staining his suddenly dry lips. "You have to read the exorcism."

Dean gently put Sam to the ground, climbed onto his feet and began reciting the latin words from his mind. He did not know why he suddenly could remember every word, and when he looked down at Sam, he saw his brother's lips move in unison with his own.

The demons screamed. But now it was different than before, no more battle screams, now they screamed in fear and pain. And then they were gone. Just gone.

Dean fell to his knees, not caring about hitting a stone with his left one, tearing up his jeans and scratching the skin so hard that his blood merged with Sam's.

"Sammy..?" He grabbed his brother's shoulders, yanking the younger one up so his head leaned against his chest. Sam opened his eyes to a slit, smiling at Dean with bloodstained teeth. "Thank you, Dean. Thanks, bro… Mm-m feelin' so cold…" He started shivering all over, and Dean pulled him even closer to him, tears blurring his vision. "'t'is okay, Sammy, it's okay… Just relax…."

Sam reared up and blinked rapidly. "Dean- Dean? It is getting dark… I feel so strange… Where's Dad? Will he be home soon?"

Dean gritted his teeth, fighting to hold Sam down, to hold him steady. "Don't worry, Tiger, you'll see the old man soon… Oh, God, Sammy…"

"Dean? Are you here? Where are you? I'm so scared…."

"I know – I know. But everything will be fine in the morning". Dean heard his voice say the words he used to say when they were little kids, when Sammy had woken to a nightmare, and no-one could calm him down except for Dean. "Everything will be fine. I'm here, Sammy. I won't leave you." He buried his wet face in his brothers unruly hair and cried when Sam's body went limp and his eyes broke.


	2. Chapter 2

Here we go, next part. And thanks to all the people who set me on alert / favourite.

Aaaaaand: of course, a very special thanks and a big hug to irshyva, my muse, who writes great stories of her own… :-)

Okay, 'nuff of the chick-flick-moments…

The Singer Salvage Yard was, to the eyes of a stranger, a place only interesting for those who wanted parts of any kind of car of any year, of any brand. The wrecked cars looked chaotically disarranged, the system in it only to be seen by the Yard's owner, Bobby Singer.

The old, sturdy man scratched the stubbles of his more-than-three-days beard and lifted his greasy basecap to let the air cool his sweaty forehead. "Fwhew" he blew out and stared annoyed at the dog at the end of the chain he held in his other hand. The dog looked back, panting, his long tongue hanging out of his mouth, the flews drawn up as if he was laughing.

"I really should get you castrated, you moron", Bobby mumbled as he hooked the lock back onto the chain, checking the seal double. "Hope you had fun, for it will be the last time!"

He turned and walked back to the house, which was in no better shape than the worst cars on the salvage yard. At least, that was what it looked like on the outside. If anyone would have cared and taken a step closer, he would have realized that all the windows were of the newest standard, double-glassed and extra secured by an alarm system. The flaked-off colour was only a fake.

Inside, there were books. Thousands of books. Big books, small books; new ones still in plastic, old ones that only hung by the proverbial thread, some greasy from often use, some barely touched; a few were dusty. And they were everywhere, occupied every free place next to the furniture. They all had more or less the same theme: the supernatural, mythological explications, demonological issues.

Bobby Singer was a hunter – well, not an active hunter anymore, but he was, as Ellen Harvelle used to put it, the library of the hunter community. You don't know how to finish a spirit – go ask Bobby. You don't know what to do with revenants – Bobby will for sure. So far, he had always found a solution to every problem. _Of course_, he mused as he crossed the living room and entered the small kitchen in the back, _things aren't as nasty as they were 'bout fife years ago. Sam really took the worst with him._ The old man sighed at the thought of his young friend who died so long ago, a friend who had been more, who had been like a son to him. He pushed that thought aside – so many had died these days, and nothing would bring them back. They had died, and end of the story. And, it made Bobby shiver from deep inside, they had made sure they did not come back from the dead. It had taken him three days of constant talking to convince Dean that Sam had to be salted and burned. It would have made the sacrifice of the youngster for nothing if something evil had taken his dead body. No, he had explained to Dean over and over, this was what Sam had wanted. And finally Dean had given in, eyes hollow of the sorrow he felt because he could not protect his little brother anymore. That salting and burning meant sentencing him for all eternity to suffer in hell. For Dean was sure Sam had gone there – and the elder Winchester knew how it was in hell, he'd been there before.

Bobby sighed again and rubbed over his tired face, when he heard a plank creak in the living room. He spun around, hands ready to grab the knife he always wore at the hip – and relaxed. "Hey, boy, good to see ya again", he said as his face broke into a big smile. "But stop sneakin' on me, one day I'll just drop and die of a heart-attack!"

Dean Winchester answered the smile, dropped his duffle bag and crossed the small distance between him and Bobby with two quick steps. He embraced the older man heartily and replied with a hoarse voice: "I didn't sneak in; in fact I almost knocked the door down. Guess you need a hearing-aid, old man," he teased.

Bobby laughed and shook his fist. "Just go on like that!"

Dean smiled a little longer, then became serious again. "Listen, Bobby, I need-"

"Oh, no", Bobby rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you need another car again! Boy, you had the last one for only two weeks! What the hell are you doin'?! And what's with your voice? The last hunt a problem?" He looked worried at the other man, checking for injuries.

Dean stepped back. "Oh, it's nothing. Just a little coincidence with a water horse. I'm hoarse – and it's dead."

Bobby gestured Dean forward to sit down and turned to take the whisky out. Dean had come closer to death more often than most other hunters he knew. In the first two, three years after Sam's death Bobby had even feared Dean would search the danger to get himself killed, but he always had gotten out somehow. Not unharmed, Bobby noticed as he poured the whisky into two glasses. Dean's handsome features were disturbed by a long, slim scar that ran down his forehead over his right temple down to the line of his jaw, a constant reminder of Dean's meeting with a wendigo shortly after Sam's death. Bobby knew without the need to see them, that Dean had some gruesome marks on his chest that originated from that same wendigo, too. He himself had stichted the boy together after that, since Dean refused to go to a hospital.

Digging up a bearwalker about two years later, however, had left Dean comatous and with only a tiny scar beneath his hairline. When he woke up after two months in hospital, Dean had been still so weak and exhausted that he had to stay another month in hospital for recovery, only held back by the harsh words of Ellen who said she would beat the crap out of him if he dismissed himself before the doctors gave their approval.

Otherwise, Dean hadn't changed much since those fateful days fife years ago. If possible, he had only grown more muscles without looking overworked, and there was this secluded, noncommittal look in his green eyes that only softened and grew warm when he was around Bobby and Ellen. Bobby knew he should have been proud of that, since Dean was known around the country as the toughest and most persistent hunter, "the best at what he's doing", some even said. But it broke Bobby's heart to see Dean turn down any sincere opportunity for a partnership or even a simple friendship, knowing that Dean didn't want to get hurt again. Hell, the Winchester boys had always been his family, too, especially after John had sacrificed himself for Dean. Bobby had loved Sam like a son, but Dean – Dean was special. Bobby always had thought that John was too hard on his eldest son, expecting things of a youngster and later a teenager that not even a grown-up would have mastered. And yet Dean had done everything his father had told him to do, without hesitation and questioning, for he longed for his father's approval and love. But these were things John had never been able to show his children, although Bobby knew how much John loved his sons of Mary. So it had been Bobby who had taken that part, who had praised the boys once in a while, who had comforted them when they had been hurt and John had merely stomped away, complaining about his soft kids who should be warriors, not peewees. Bobby had seen Sam growing stronger because of this, just as John had intended, argueing with his father, but Dean – Dean was too sensitive, his father's often mocking words hitting the mark, although the boy never ever would have admitted that. He simply locked the harsh words deep inside his soul away and shrugged occasionally his shoulders, putting on a grin that looked almost real. He couldn't deceive Bobby, though. And that was when the older man decided to take care of Dean – since obviously no-one else, not even the boy himself, did.

"Okay, son", Bobby said as he drowned the whisky, "what happened to the car?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders, dare-devil grin flashing across his face. "Well, the horse pulled it into the river. Barely got out of it before it sank to the ground, but you know me – I'm hard to kill." The smile intensified, but Bobby felt uncomfortable with the emptiness behind it.

"I don't have much cars left that could legally run on the streets", he began, but Dean interrupted, lifting a hand. "No prob. You know I'm not fussy 'bout that."

Bobby winced, remembering Dean being almost obsessed with the car his father had given to him, a beautiful black 1967 Chevrolet Impala. "Hmm, then let's move. But before you leave – I want to ask a favour from you, too."

Dean jerked up his eyebrows, but Bobby just left the house, motioning the younger one with him.

They crossed the yard and went to the parking lots where several cars stood – in different stages of decay, but still good enough for the road. Dean knew Bobby would never give him a car that was broken, even if the exterior didn't make up for good anymore.

Bobby waved at a 1978 Ford Fairmont who had a disgusting brown colour. The Dean of fife years ago would have taken a swing at Bobby for that insult of a car, but the Dean of today didn't even grimace. "It'll do, thanks, Bobby. And now talk – how can I help you?"

Strangers often were appalled by Dean's rough and direct way, but Bobby knew it was how Dean protected himself. It wasn't a way to make friends, though. Bobby, however, could see through the hard shell. "I got a friend near McHenry, Illinois, who has a little problem with his haunted house. Nothing to bad, just a little salt-and-burn-job."

Dean wrinkled his eyebrows. "If it's that easy, why don't you let Maria Ximenez take care of it? She lives in Chicago, which is only a short hop from McHenry."

"'Cause she's pregnant again." Bobby rolled his eyes exaggerated. Sweat began to form under his cap. _Crap, he HAS to take the hunt. Or I'll have to come up with a new plan._

"Well, you know a lot of us. If it's that easy, why don't you send someone else? I thought I should take a little break, make some kind of holidays." Dean sounded indifferent.

Bobby pursed his lips and he lifted his cap once more, to let the light wind cool his sweaty forehead. "Uh, boy, I – I just thought this job might be something like holidays for you. And they have a lovely house, there. I'm sure they would let you stay a couple of days to relax. It's a beautiful area up there."

Dean stared at Bobby for a moment, then shrugged. Just another job in another town. He reached out for the keys of the Fairmont, and Bobby dropped them into Dean's open palm, together with a piece of paper with his friend's adress. "Thanks, boy. I owe you one. Just don't wreck the car, son, you hear me? I'm slowly running out of functioning cars."

Dean threw one of his ladykiller grins at Bobby. "I'll do my best, old man!" He climbed into the car, throwing his duffle bag to the back seat. "And thanks again!"

Bobby watched Dean speeding off the yard and slowly shook his head. He turned and went to a parking lot hidden behind some wreckage. Carefully and gently he pulled off the cover from the car standing there.

The 1967 Chevrolet Impala appeared, shining black in the sunshine. Bobby gently rubbed a speck from one of the mirrors and sighed deeply. "Well, beauty, he still isn't ready for you. Crap, I'm even afraid of showing you to him. Fear is, he could just turn his back on me and leave and never come back again. But don't worry – I'll help the boy get past his memories and pain, and then you'll be together again. Promise!"


	3. Chapter 3

Next part. And soon there will be more action, I promise! ;-)

It was night when Dean arrived at the small settlement just a few miles away from McHenry. He parked the car in a lot and rubbed his face. _Quite a ride_, he mused, _Guess I'm getting old here. _He swallowed down the memory of Sam who had used to squabble with him over the music, the food, even the prices of gasoline. God, he _so _missed his little brother. Dean shook his head. _Wrong thoughts. Just gets you ending up in a bar, to drunk to even remember your real name._

Being on a job meant being without alcohol. Dean had gotten used to that, and it was easier than he had thougt. It was his way to show the people – well, acutally to show just _Bobby_ and _Ellen_ – that he took his job serious, that he was out of his "I want to get killed in action"-mode. There was no way to bring back Sam, and no way either to find the trickster and make him help him cheating his mind. No, this was real life, where you did not get a second chance. You blow it – you blow it for sure. Anything else would just be a simple fake and that he did not want.

_Oh, stop it!_ He punched the driver's door open and drew in deep breaths of fresh air as he climbed out of the car. He looked around to orientate himself and then took two long strides to the door of the small house left of where he'd parked the car.

The bell rang loud through the house, and Dean winced unconsciously, eyes darting to the left and right. His hand, searching for comfort, felt for the Beretta at the small of his back, tugged in neatly under his shirt and jacket.

The door opened, and warm light shone onto the dark street. A man in his mid-fifties stuck his head out and looked expectantly at Dean.

"Mr. Humphries?" He put on his faked "I'm SO glad to see you,man!"-smile and put out his hand.

"Dean Winchester, I guess". The other man shook the hand. "Please, come in!"

Dean was to bewilderd to do anything but follow the man inside. There was a bright fire burning in the chimney of the living-room, warming up the house so friendly Dean felt comfortable at once.

"So, I guess Bobby told you I'm coming", he began when they had settled down in the big armchairs near the fire.

"Yes, and please call me Joe. This is Melissa", he introduced his wife when she came from the kitchen and brought them fresh hot coffee.

Dean sniffed at the cup and emptied it in one gulp. "Oh, that was great – thank you, Melissa."

"Do you want another cup?"

He shook his head, the smile on his face now a real one, "No, thank you very much. Back to the issue, Joe. What's going on in your house?"

Joe cleared his throat and exchanged a quick glance with his wife. "Actually, it's not the house that is haunted. It's the nearby Indian Ridge Park Conserv Area. The two of us here would take it out ourselves, but-" he stopped, obviously not sure how to continue, "But we're out of business for almost twenty years now, we don't have the right equipment. And for sure not the right condition." He patted his big belly.

"Hm", Dean answered, inwardly noting to have a talk with Bobby. _Just why do I have the feeling there is something just SO wrong here?!_

"Okay, folks, and now I want the truth. What are you hiding from me?"

"Nothing!" Melissa sounded honest. Dean still noticed the red-haired woman intertwining her fingers a bit to nervous in his eyes. Her eyes, on the other hand, looked innocent and real enough. _Man, I'm really getting paranoid these days._ He shook his head slightly. "Any idea what it could be?"

Joe put a hand on Melissa's shoulder. "We believe it is a werewolf. Or it might even be a wendigo, the corpses found were too ravaged to tell exactly." He suddenly fell silent when he heard the soft trods on the stairs that led from the upper floor downstairs. "Oh, hi, there, Wedge", his voice sounded now casual, light, not sincere and low like seconds before.

Dean raised an eyebrow. So the kid was the reason why the Humpries had gotten "out of business", as Joe had put it. And obviously they hadn't told their son about their past, keeping it secret. That didn't happen often, since kids always find out all the sectrets of their parents. Especially those the parents thought they guarded the best.

The youth, 17 or mayby 18 years old, Dean estimated, put a jacket on and took some keys out of a small basket from the dresser in the corridor. "I uh, I might be late tonight, don't wait with dinner for me," he said and gave Dean a nod instead of a 'Hi'. His blond hair was short and spiky, his deep blue eyes twinkling when he leaned down to his mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Might be sleeping at Jenna's, don't mind!"

"Sure, honey", Melissa patted his jeans-clad arm and smiled at him. "Oh, by the way, this is Dean. He's – ah, he's an old friend of your Dad."

Dean flashed a grin to the youth. "Nice to meet you – Wedge?"

"Yeah, don't ask. My mother is totally into Star Wars." The youth rolled his eyes as if he was tired of explaining his unusual name. "So, bye, guys." He strolled out.

"Okay, let's got back to work", Dean rubbed his hands. "Although I'm really curious how you could hide your hunting from the kid."


	4. Chapter 4

Next part. Sorry it's so short, further chapters will be longer! And thanks to all reviewers so far! :-)

XXXXXXX

Dean rummaged in the trunk of his car, cussing under his breath. "Where's that crappy rosary?!" For the flash of a second he regretted not having the Impala any longer, with its neat boxes and brackets that his father had build into the trunk almost 30 years ago. _Quit it_, he told himself once again, _no use in crying for the past._ Finally he found was he was looking for and stuffed it into his jacket's pocket. Since he needed a new car almost every two weeks, it was a waste of time to always rearrange the trunk. Dean had gotten used to just throw in the weapons and tools he needed, hidden under a second floor. He now grabbed some magazines with silver bullets and hairspray (he found out that worked best with Wendigos), and also his lighter.

It was a tough 2-hours-walk through the dense undergrowth, and Dean was sweating despite his good stamina. He wiped with his sleeve over his forehead, trying to stop the stinging beads of sweat of burning in his eyes.

It was fairly bright in the woods since it was full moon, but Dean still stumbled over roots and branches every so often. When he arrived at the coordinates the Humphries had given him he was winded, sinking to his heels and catching his breath. He searched for his flashlight and lit it, shining the bright yellow circle directly into the dark mouth of the cave that opened only a few meters away from him.

"Just why is it always dark and dirty?" he muttered, grabbed his gear and slowly walked to the entrance. Even from here he could smell the rusty, iron taste of blood that was shed obviously only a couple of hours ago. He had gotten _so_ used to this kind of smell… His hunter instincts kicked in, and he crouched a little as he entered the cave.

It was even darker than he had guessed, the walls wet and greasy from the water that came through the roots of the trees growing on the cave.

Something crunched under his booted foot, and Dean winced. He bowed down, directing the circle of light to where the sound had come from.

_Bones_, he mused, _so I'm on the right way. _He moved on, careful, oh so careful – and stopped sharp as he heard muffled moaning from the far edge of the cave. He turned back to the entrance, making clear that there was no werewolf or wendigo or even another unexpected surprise waiting for him to say hi, and then he stealthily rushed to the side of the young man that was bound and gagged, lying on a pile of rubble.

"Shhhh, be quiet! The cavalry is already here…" He pulled his knife from its sheath on his left forearm and cut quickly through the rope. "No sound!" he warned again, then took the gag out of the man's mouth. And drew his eyebrows together.

"_Wedge_?! That you?!"

The boy rubbed his wrists and shot a glance at Dean. "What are you doing here? Why are you here? How did you know…" He stopped in midsentence and bit his lip.

"That was Bobby's idea, right?" Dean fumed. Now everything was fitting together.

"B-Bobby? I don't know any Bobby", Wedge lied. Dean smirked. "Sure you don't. Why do you keep your hunting secret?"

Understanding gleamed suddenly in Wedge's eyes as he tried to avoid a direct answer. "You – you are _Dean Winchester_!"

"Uh – yeah, that's right. And now answer! I'm sure you know your parents were hunters – so why didn't you tell them? And who trained you, anyway…"

Wedge avoided Dean's eyes. "I – uh – I didn't want to upset them. Can't you understand that? My older sister was killed by a vampire, and after that, my parents retired – sort of. I didn't even _know_ I had a sister – until one year ago, I meet this Bobby Singer – he gave me Leia's diary. Don't know how he got it, and actually I didn't care since I found out the truth about what's going on out in the dark. I was so _angry_ with my parents, I wanted to run away, just to get away from these liars, but Bobby convinced me to stay. He trained me, sort of, at least filled me in with the theoretical part. But – theory is fine and good and all, but I want to save lives, not just sit around and read!"

Dean smirked, knowing too well the feelings the young man in front of him had. "Okay, so we better get outta here, before –"

He never finished the sentence since something hit him hard, too hard, into the back, throwing him against the younger one, toppling Wedge, and smashing him against the back wall of the cave. His head made contact with the sharp rocks before he could raise his arms to protect is face. Dean tried to lift his head, tried to get up, but his vision was blurred by something sticky and warm that ran down into his eyes, and he knew he was bleeding before he lost consciousness.


End file.
